Resolution
by Slivering
Summary: Ryoma hates parties, but Tezuka makes them bearable.


**RESOLUTION**

By the time it hits dusk, the sky is maroon and the barbecue has reached crazy levels of insanity. Ryoma sits languidly against the steps of Kikumaru's backyard, wondering exactly how a Seigaku hang-out somehow managed to involve all of the other schools. Out of the corner of his gold eyes, he spots Atobe surrounded by the Hyotei team members, sipping on a drink. Rikkadai mingles accordingly.

Ryoma pulls his cap down. He hates parties.

"Yo, Echizen, up for another burger?" Momoshiro asks.

Before Ryoma can reply, Kamio mutters something under his breath, and Momoshiro and him get into an argument over An. Ryoma blinks, and scowls. He was going to decline anyway, but getting ignored isn't something he likes. And that's exactly what happens at a party with everyone much older than you.

They actually sort of _drink._ He sees Atobe taking tiny sips of something that has got to be alcoholic. They _talk_ like crazy morons until late into the night. They party, they dance, they barbecue – and all Ryoma wants to do is find a nearby court and hit some balls against the wall. He's too young to drink – they all are, but he especially – and talking has never been his specialty.

"Echizen?"

The low voice forces Ryoma to look up. Tezuka looks down at him with sternness in his expression, but Ryoma can see the edges of weariness and exhaustion. It's hard trying to control thirty wild teenagers by yourself, and even though Tezuka isn't in charge, he involuntarily takes on the task.

"Buchou." Ryoma blinks. He shifts aside to make room.

Tezuka takes a seat next to him, head tilted towards the sunset. Strands of brunette frame his face.

Ryoma leans forward. He rests his elbows on his knees, head propped up with his hands.

"Parties are so boring, buchou."

"Ah. Well, you should try to take part."

His lips curl wryly. "Are you really one to talk, buchou?" He pokes at the older's Seigaku jacket.

Tezuka sighs, and he fondly looks down at the preteen. "To be truthful, I would much rather be at the courts practicing," he admits after some hesitation. He looks thoughtful, the sun reflecting off his perched glasses. "However, social interactions _are_ important."

"Che, I'd rather be at the courts too." Ryoma smirks. Social life isn't important, not to him. Tezuka is as anti-social as they get, and Ryoma admires him to a great degree. If Tezuka thinks playing tennis and not socializing is a good idea, Ryoma doesn't see why he can't do it as well. Besides, he's plenty social with Momoshiro at burgers. Nights with Tezuka to himself are rare.

"Buchou…do you really like the colour purple? You wear it a lot."

Tezuka appears a bit startled. He glances towards Ryoma. "It's _lavender_ ," his finally says, sounding rather put out.

A smirk sprawls on Ryoma's face. "I think lavender looks good on you."

The awkwardness pushes further at Ryoma's words, and Tezuka adjusts his glasses and looks away toward the others. Ryoma follows his gaze, absentmindedly watching them fool around with clinking glasses and howling laughter. They don't notice them – not today, even though Ryoma and Tezuka both generally have a humongous presence.

After a moment, Tezuka stands up. Ryoma jumps to his feet too, not wanting to be left behind.

"I'm going to get myself some water," the older explains. "Would you like me to get you one too?"

 _So damn polite,_ Ryoma thinks with a smug smile. He nods, but the moment Tezuka disappears into the house, he regrets it. He flops back down on the steps with a frown. He really does hate parties. Even barbecue ones that have the greatest hot dogs. He glances to his right and he sees all of them sitting in big clusters, exchanging stories and cackling loudly.

Momoshiro sees him looking, and grins and waves his hand encouragingly. "Come over here, Echizen!"

Ryoma peeks back at the doorway, and Tezuka still isn't back, so he saunters casually toward the group. He almost feels like he's betraying the captain.

"Oww!" Someone, Ryoma can't tell who, suddenly yells. "You elbowed me!"

A second after, an empty glass cup flies over their heads and crashes onto the backyard steps, shattering into pieces. One of the pieces chips off the edge and sails through the air, plunging towards Ryoma's face. Everyone watches silently as it cuts Ryoma's cheek, opening a wound before clattering to the ground.

A single trickle of blood drips down his cheek. Ryoma blinks.

"Oi, Echizen…" Momoshiro asks tentatively.

"I'm sorry," Otori says sheepishly, scratching the back of his head. "I just lost my grip and Shishido elbowed me…"

Ryoma touches his cheek, and winces slightly. He can feel them all staring at him, a gigantic group huddled around their prince in distress. At times, Ryoma enjoys attention – whether he's playing a tennis match or putting people in their place – but at other times, he hates it. He should have just sat there and waited for Tezuka. Now his cheek hurt. And they were looking at him all sympathetically.

Their little boy was hurt. Great. Big deal.

"Ochibi!" Kikumaru sniffs, clinging onto Oishi. "It's bleeding!"

"That looks painful." Kirihara's lips split into a grin. Sanada shoots him a warning look.

Ryoma ducks his head. He turns stiffly toward the doorway. "It's fine," he mumbles, and waves a hand. "You guys can go back to partying."

Deafening silence occurs behind him, and Ryoma scowls. But then, suddenly, Tezuka steps out of the doorway with two glasses in his hands. He takes one look at Ryoma's cheek, the quiet group, and the shattered glass, and puts two and two together. Ryoma's gold eyes burn into his skull, demanding.

Tezuka clears his throat. "He's fine. Return to your business."

Hesitantly, and softly, everyone starts to chatter among themselves. Ryoma stands quietly and waits until the party goes back into swing.

After a moment, he cracks a smile. "Thanks."

The captain hands him the glass of water. "You got careless."

"It wasn't my fault!"

Tezuka just looks at him expressionlessly. They find themselves sitting side by side again, the sky a little darker now, and Ryoma just a little closer to Tezuka. The boy sips at his water in tune with the brunette, occasionally shifting over so he can thicken the proximities. He isn't exactly sure why he wants to touch Tezuka's leg – but the compelling urge is there.

Ryoma subtly moves a bit more. Ah, there. Their knees are brushing now.

"You really should bandage your cheek." Tezuka's voice sounds strained.

"Do it for me," Ryoma replies simply.

This time, Tezuka doesn't try to hide his discomfort. "Echizen, you-"

"You can see it better," Ryoma says. "I don't have a mirror."

It's a viable request. It's reasonable. Tezuka can't deny it without seeming uncaring. The captain of Seigaku sighs softly to himself, standing up once more. "I'll get bandages," he says. "Stay here, and try not to get yourself injured again."

Ryoma pouts. "I said it wasn't my fault!"

"You should never let your guard down."

Ryoma opens his mouth to protest, but Tezuka's already closed the door behind him. Ryoma watches him go through the clear backyard doorway. His eyes narrow into slits, and he rests his chin on his knees. Hmph. His buchou always blames him for everything. He wonders if Tezuka will ever see him as an innocent bystander rather than the cause of the problem.

Ryoma sulks until Tezuka returns with the bandages.

"There's only two left in here," Tezuka notes. He sits down beside Ryoma – seating himself an obvious one foot apart.

Ryoma ignores the bandage statement. "It wasn't my fault," he says stubbornly.

Tezuka merely arches a brow. "Are you still referring to the-?"

"The glass. It wasn't my fault." Ryoma glares, eyes dark. "Ootori-san accidentally threw his cup when Shishido elbowed him."

Tezuka exhales beside him. "You should have at least attempted to dodge."

"I wasn't prepa-"

"Exactly." Tezuka gives him a curt nod. "You shouldn't let your guard down."

Ryoma practically growls in his throat. "But _buchou_!-"

This time, Tezuka's eyes soften, and it takes Ryoma a moment to realize that Tezuka is just kidding him. Ryoma stares unblinkingly at his captain. He didn't know Tezuka had the ability to be carefree. He didn't know Tezuka could _joke._

"Wow." Ryoma turns away, sipping at water.

Tezuka takes out a bandage. "Face me," he orders.

Ryoma muses that Tezuka acts like an authoritative figure even if they're off the courts. Still, he complies. For some weird reason, his body instinctively responds to Tezuka with obedience. Maybe it's the fact that he respects Tezuka beyond anyone else. Maybe it's because Tezuka seems to know him inside out. Maybe it's because Tezuka is _always_ right.

Either way, Ryoma obeys, and faces him.

Tezuka's thumb brushes Ryoma's cheek. "That looks painful."

Ryoma doesn't speak. He doesn't breathe. Because his buchou is touching him. He closes his eyes, and allows himself to just _feel._ Tezuka gently presses the bandage onto his soft skin. For a moment, his hand lingers, and Ryoma leans into a touch. It only lasts for a few more seconds. Then Tezuka pulls away.

Ryoma opens his eyes, and smiles. "Thanks, buchou."

"You're welcome."

The sun dips under. The sky darkens over Kikumaru's backyard, casting darkness over the friendly barbecue.

In somewhere that feels like the distance, Kikumaru cries, "Stupid carrot-head! You're spilling vodka on my lawn!"

"NANI? Don't call me a carrot-head!"

"But that's what you're, nya!"

Fuji just pours punch in paper cups, smiling creepily.

Ryoma smirks, and vaguely wonders how they got their hands on vodka. He turns to Tezuka, who looks like a headache is tampering with his brain cells.

"Ne, buchou?"

"Hmm."

"Can we go to the tennis courts?"

Tezuka stares at him. For a moment, Ryoma is sure he's going to be lectured for being antisocial. But then Kikumaru does a cartwheel on the ground, carrying Oishi on his back, and something changes in Tezuka's eyes.

"I'll bring the racquets."


End file.
